


Heating Things Up

by OneBlueUmbrella (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft's Meddling, Protective Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/OneBlueUmbrella
Summary: Greg's sick of coming home to a cold flat. Until one day, he doesn't.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 28
Kudos: 346





	Heating Things Up

Coming home to a cold flat was the worst. Greg shivered, wishing his heating had a timer that actually worked. Not that it would really matter, his working hours were so unpredictable at the moment. For several unsteady seconds his hand hovered over the control, but he didn’t bother switching it on. He was only going to eat something and crash for a few hours before it would be time to get up for tomorrow. Shivering, he left his coat on and headed for the bathroom. It took a few minutes to steel his resolve not to just brush his teeth and go to bed without eating. He’d skipped dinner and lunch was a vague memory he couldn’t even be sure was real. By now his stomach was in that nauseated kind of place, but he needed to eat something.

The toast was just about to pop up when his phone rang. He answered it without even thinking.

“Lestrade.”

The line was open, but the caller took a second to speak. “Gregory?”

“Yes,” he replied, too tired to even ask who it was. A shiver wracked through him and he pulled the collar of his coat closer, an entirely futile gesture. He barely had any body heat to keep in.

“If this is an inconvenient time, I can all again tomorrow. The matter is not urgent,” the voice said, and though the guarded tone was unfamiliar, the cadence and careful words were clearly Mycroft Holmes.

“It’s fine,” Greg said, mentally abandoning his toast. “What is it?”

Another gap, another moment in which Greg barely existed as he waited. Christ, he was tired.

“I apologise,” Mycroft said finally. “I will call again tomorrow.” There was another pause before he added carefully, “I hope my call did not wake you.”

Greg snorted a laugh. “I’ve been up for thirty hours, my flat’s heating is rubbish and never on when I get home, I haven’t eaten since…I don’t remember, and I’m due back in the office in a very small number of hours. Sleep is a foreign concept.”

“Ah,” Mycroft replied. “I will not keep you any longer. Good evening.”

He hung up without another word and it took two long breaths before Greg realised food would be useless. The fatigue was too overwhelming, even though the toast was right there in front of him. Plugging in his phone was a small victory before he collapsed into bed. The mattress stopped his body but his consciousness continued to fall into sleep.

+++

The next day was just about what Greg expected. He was tired and grumpy, and Sally called him on it early, sending him into the office to do paperwork while she managed the rest of the team. Three cups of the sludge that passed for coffee, so he wasn’t going to sleep, but the buzz in his veins was hardly calming.

_Come on, Greg. If you can get all this paperwork sorted by this afternoon, you can go home and crash out._

That was the thought pushing him through, grimly filling out form after form. It was like a circle of hell; no matter how much he worked, the pile never seemed to shrink. At one point, Sally came in and left a package on his desk, but Greg didn’t even look up. He knew he was being an arse, and it would be better to just keep his mouth shut. Besides, he didn’t want to break his concentration.

“Boss,” Sally’s voice broke in.

Greg blinked at the words in front of him. They swam before his eyes and he realised he didn’t have a clue what they said.

_I’m too tired for this._

“Go home,” Sally’s voice came again.

Greg looked up at her. She didn’t look angry, which was a relief. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve been an arse today.”

“Go home, go to bed,” she repeated herself. “We’ve done enough for today.” She took the paper from under his hand. “No point staying when you’re like this. Go home.”

Greg nodded. She was right. As he turned to stand up and collect his coat, the package Sally had delivered caught against his wrist and fell to the floor. He picked it up and slipped it into his coat pocket.

+++

Something was different. Greg stood in the hall, the door to his flat slowly swinging open, his heightened senses jumping up another notch as he tried to work it out.

Warmth.

The outside hall was cold, as Greg expected, but a wave of gentle warmth was rolling out of his flat and into the hall. Cautiously, he stepped inside, not looking as he pulled the keys from the lock. It felt ridiculous to pull a weapon, but he briefly wished he had his gun as he instead clenched his keys between his fingers. The hall light on, the door behind him shut. There was no sound from inside except the buzz of his slightly dodgy fridge. Eyes watchful, Greg cleared his flat one room at a time. It hardly took three minutes, which felt like a lifetime. When he made it back to the hall, he blew out a breath, relaxing. The confusion still reigned, peaking again when he noticed something that had escaped him when he first came in.

There was a new heating panel.

“What the…” he trailed off. It was fancier than his old one, which wasn’t hard; according to this, the temperature was set somewhere in the region of comfortably warm. It was certainly working. Greg was still trying to figure out what was going on as he pulled his scarf off, hanging it up before he shed his coat.

The sound of something banging against the wall made him stop, his brain taking longer to catch up than his hand did to reach into a pocket and pull out the package he’d brought home. The handwriting was vaguely familiar but Greg couldn’t place it. He took the package into his kitchen, leaving it on the table while he opened a beer. Maybe that would help him think. Whatever this was, he reckoned the package was connected to the heating mystery. There was no logical reason for this, but he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts.

This time they were right, as usual.

The package contained a note, a mobile phone and a small booklet.

_Warmex 400-LFD Intelligent Heating System Instruction Booklet_

Instructions to a heating system?

Gratified his instinct was correct but still confused as hell, Greg turned the phone over. It looked like his phone, but newer. Too cautious to turn it on, he instead unfolded the note.

_Gregory,_

_I hope you will forgive this intrusion on your life and instead accept the intention to ease your path. This mobile phone is a clone of your own; when you turn it on and enter your passcode, it will automatically sync an update of your settings._

Greg swallowed. There was only one person with the power – and money – to do this. Before he could read on, there was a knock at the door. He was still holding the note, wondering with a pounding heart if Mycroft was waiting for him.

“Hi Greg,” Laura said brightly. “Thanks for your order, as usual.”

She handed him a bag, grinned and turned to leave, the scent of Indian food rising up to meet him. Okay, this was getting weird. He poked into the bag – his usual order, from his usual place, and ready to be delivered right when he arrived home.

Intrusion, Mycroft reckoned.

Ignoring the food for a few minutes, Greg took another pull of his beer. Figuring he should probably be sitting down for the rest of this, Greg pulled out a chair and opened the note, starting from the start again.

_Gregory,_

_I hope you will forgive this intrusion on your life and instead accept the intention to ease your path. This mobile phone is a clone of your own; when you turn it on and enter your passcode, it will automatically sync an update of your current settings. You will notice only two additions. An application which will allow you to remotely set your heating to a comfortable level, and another which will allow you to order meals of your choice from local restaurants with ease. I have taken the liberty of adding several local establishments and ensuring the delivery of your meal this evening._

_Your conscientious attention in defence and support of my brother has been noted, and I trust this small effort will demonstrate my gratitude._

_Sincerely,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Greg blinked. He had no idea what to do about this. This was…he had no idea. Absently, he picked up his beer bottle, not realising it was empty until he’d tipped it up.

_Food. I should do food._

Autopilot took over and suddenly he had a fork in his hand. As he ate Greg eyed the mobile phone. Somehow it was a little weird. Well, a lot, if he was judging by a regular, un-Holmes-brothers-adjacent existence. But as he ate the food that magically arrived, sitting in his warm flat, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough about whether this was weird or not. It was fucking brilliant, and he wasn’t too proud to accept it.

Wiping korma sauce on his work pants, Greg turned on the phone. His usual lock screen flared to life and a brief smile came across his face at the sight. The passcode was an automatic flash of his thumb across the screen, and Greg’s home screen appeared. _Jesus._ He watched as the screen dimmed, a rotating ‘loading’ icon appearing. Shrugging, Greg put the phone down. It would take as long as it took, and he was still hungry.

When he’d finished his korma, the new phone was done. Greg picked up his old phone and turned it off. He took the new one, lighter in an uncomfortably unfamiliar way in his hand. Much as he wanted answers, it was difficult to formulate them right now. His belly was full, his flat was warm, and all he wanted to was to go to sleep. Five minutes was enough to brush his teeth and get changed before he sank into bed. Ten more seconds for a quick text message, and he was asleep again.

_Thanks, Mycroft. – Greg_

+++

When he woke, there were two messages waiting.

_My pleasure. – MH_

_Your personal leave has been approved for today. Please take the time to recharge. – MH_

Greg blinked. He had a day off? If it was anyone else he would have questioned it, but Mycroft had the time and resources to make it happen. As he considered it, Greg realised the air around him was cold. He pulled the blanket up, and a thought occurred to him. Hardly believing it would work, he opened the heating app on his phone and bumped up the temperature.

“Jesus,” he muttered, grinning as the air around him moved, warm. It actually worked. He might need more of a conversation with Mycroft about this, but right now he was going to get some more sleep.

Dropping into deep sleep was harder than Greg thought it might be, but a few hours of dozing was still the kind of languid bliss he rarely managed these days. Eventually he rose back to the world. Stretching, he groaned, feeling his spine crack. Christ, it was light out. How long had it been since he’d laid in bed until after dawn? Too bloody long, he thought with a smile. The extra rest made his brain fuzzy, but in good way. All the anxiety he’d been carrying was softened, distant. Tomorrow it’d be back, but for today he was warm, he didn’t have to work…and while he’d been dozing, a strange thought had occurred to him. Something about why Mycroft would do this, backed up by a dozen small observations over the time they’d known each other.

_Was it possible…_

Everything fit, and the possibility made him breathless. Perhaps it also made him bold, because Greg found his phone amongst the bedclothes and dialled Mycroft’s number.

“Good morning,” Mycroft answered. “I trust you are well.”

“I am,” Greg replied. “Turned up my heating right from bed this morning. Bloody amazing.”

“I’m pleased to hear you’re not upset by the liberties taken,” Mycroft said.

Greg snorted. “I’m still in bed at,” he glanced at his phone, “half-ten, the heating’s on and I don’t have to go to work today. How could I be upset at that?”

There was a pause. “You’re still in bed?”

From anyone else, Greg wouldn’t have thought twice. But his brain was working a different angle this time, and Mycroft’s voice wasn’t the same as usual. Greg smiled, sliding a little lower in his sheets. He felt like himself again. The version that wasn’t beaten down by the job, or his age. The version that believed he could take this chance and survive if it didn’t work out.

“I am.”

It was only two words, but Greg imbued them with as much meaning as he could manage. He could almost feel the surprise radiating down the phone line, and his smile widened. Whatever it was between he and Mycroft, there had been enough deliberate misunderstandings and conversations allowed to slip away. Now was the time to address things, and he was surprisingly calm about it.

“It’s late,” Mycroft said cautiously. “To be lying in bed, I mean.”

“Perhaps,” Greg said. “I don’t get a lot of time to relax. On my own.”

“I can imagine you would take such an opportunity should it arise,” Mycroft replied.

“Yeah,” Greg replied, “but it’s not exactly my preference.”

“No?” Mycroft said.

Greg waited, barely breathing, knowing Mycroft could see where this might go, if he was willing to take it there.

“And what would your preference be?”

Greg grinned. _Gotcha._

“Well, given the choice,” he said, dropping his voice solidly into the low and sultry range, “I’d rather some company.”

“Just anyone?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh, no,” Greg said, “we’re talking if I had my choice.” He licked his lips, hearing the desire colour his tone. “Tall. Freckles. Long legs.” He deliberately stopped short of anything specific, encouraging Mycroft to join him.

_The game’s part of the fun. Come on, sugar._

“She would be very lucky,” Mycroft murmured. His voice was rougher and the uneven tone brushed over Greg, raising the hair on his arms.

“Never said I’d choose a woman,” Greg pointed out.

The pause this time was longer, and Greg thought he heard Mycroft swallow.

“You did not,” he said. “Are there other parameters for this choice?”

_Uh-uh, darlin’. Gotta give some to get some._

“Sometimes,” Greg says. “Don’t want to narrow it down too much, though. Might accidentally write someone off. Give them the impression they’re not welcome when they are.”

“That would be terrible,” Mycroft murmured.

“It would,” Greg said. “What about you? If you had your choice.”

He waited, drinking in the silence. Mycroft’s indecision was delicious, and Greg found a smile before he even realised it was brewing.

_Come on, sugar. Keep playing the game._

“Hypothetically,” Mycroft said, “I would elect to tread the opposite path.”

“Really,” Greg said, his tone encouraging.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied. “I would make a rather more specific choice.”

Greg felt his eyebrows rise. “Really,” he said again, stretching the word out, enjoying the feel of it in his throat. “Go on.”

“Kindness is important,” Mycroft said, his voice almost a whisper, and now it had changed. “More than anything, perhaps. And someone who listens.”

Greg nodded. It was a start. “You said specific,” he prompted.

“I did,” Mycroft said.

“Did you have someone in mind?” Greg asked.

“For a long time,” Mycroft said. There was more hesitation. “He is one of few people I might have considered. Should I have the opportunity, of course.”

_He…_

“And if the opportunity presented itself?” Greg asked.

This pause was the longest yet. Greg’s breathing was shallow as he waited for Mycroft’s response.

“I should be astonished,” Mycroft admitted, “but unable to resist an offer made.”

_He’s asking me to be the brave one._

Greg swallowed.

_You’re already being brave, darlin’. Don’t worry, I’ve got you._

“Well,” Greg said, his heart ramping up, “My flat’s warm, and the Indian up the street’s pretty good.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, his tone expectant.

“Well, if I was going to have company over,” Greg said, “I’d let them know that.”

“You would?” Mycroft said.

“Yeah,” Greg replied. “And then I’d suggest they pack an overnight bag.”

“You have an ambitious plan,” Mycroft said.

“I suppose I do,” Greg said. He paused, relishing the silence. “Mycroft?”

“Yes?” Came the response.

“Pack an overnight bag.”


End file.
